Faster Than God
by Jashi
Summary: Troy Ruse was a street racer, and definetly the best of her kind. Her life was strangely warped when she was kidnapped by the NSA and xXx to destroy cars. Cars with nuclear weapons and A.I. R/R please.
1. Chapter One: Race Me

__

Cars.

Cars are what make humans go fast.

Faster than light.

Faster than speed.

Faster than God.

---Troy Ruse

FASTER THAN GOD

By Jashi 

Allo! ^_^ Welcome to my first xXx fic. This is a story, not about love, or adventure. It's about how to survive in a world where survival has either been maximized until there is no one living, or diminished so much that there are people who can live. 

Maybe there will be romance between Xander and Troy in this fic. Maybe there won't be.

It depends if Troy needs love to survive.

But probably, she doesn't. (hint hint)

So NO FLAMES! This is not Mary-Sue. 

CHAPTER ONE:

~~~

__

I can't tell you who to idolize

You think it's almost over

But it's only on the rise

Calling, calling

For something in the air.

Calling, calling, I know you must be there.

~~~

I don't really have a last name. I don't really know who I am. But, that's something I have lived with. I'll continue to live with it until that day when my car spins out of control and I go speeding into a wall.

Hey, I always wanted to go up in flames. 

There are a thousand miles between me, and that stop.

A thousand miles in a quarter mile. 

And one hundred sixteen dollars bet on me.

And three hundred eighty-five dollars bet on Jack over there.

I haven't raced here before. This is a new place, one I haven't been to in over three years. I usually race at the other site, on 44th Street. They know me there. There's Benji and Carla, then all the hardcore racers who come up to me, all adrenaline running through them and fully aroused, wanting to race.

Sure.

How much?

Sometimes it's just for respect, other times for a car, sometimes for a hundred, two hundred, eight hundred.

We race.

I win.

__

~~~

The story of a woman on the morning of a war

Remind me if you will exactly what we're fighting for?

Calling and calling for something in the air

Calling and calling, I know you must be there.

~~~

Here, I come. I come for the dragging race, the sounds of cars becoming fast and hot, becoming true and fast. Weird chemicals running through them, enhancing, becoming, not unlike a man and a woman.

Hands flying, going faster than anything, flying down the road, winning, losing, the high of a race.

You don't even need cocaine, or a joint, or a bong full of cheap shit to get this high.

You are free, just for five seconds…ten seconds…a minute when you race. Nothing matters. Nothing matters.

The guy next to me smiles and rolls down the window.

God.

"Little one needs to go sit down and watch, eh?"

I flick him off through my open window. I roll it back up, and check everything.

I'm ready.

Another guy comes up to signal the race. He waves his arms.

Whooosh.

I'm free I'm free going so fast I can't barely breathe and then the sounds the sounds of God, God himself trying to catch up with us, with me, we're going too fast, too fast. Humans can't go this fast, but they do.

I cross the line.

Before Jack Schitt does.

That's…four hundred and one dollars. Plus all the bets others made.

I smile, and as we come to a stop, I roll down my window to talk to Jack Schitt.

"Maybe someone needs to go to 44th Street and actually learn how to race. You don't know shit."

Anger is already burning in him, and maybe I've just thrown gasoline on top of a tiny candle.

It doesn't matter.

Nothing matters.

Only those fifteen seconds really matter.

**__**

The story of a woman on the morning of a war

Remind me if you will exactly what we're fighting for.

Calling and calling for something in the air 

Calling and calling, I know you must be there.

I don't want to be your little research monkey boy

The creature that I am is only going to destroy. 

Throw me to the wolves because there's order in the pack

Throw me to the sky because I know I'm coming back.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Well, that's it for the opening chapter. The POV above is the POV of Troy Ruse. The main character. This is more of a prologue, but it's a good opening. The song is The Red Hot Chili Pepper's "Easily". I don't own it. I don't own xXx either. But Troy Ruse is MINE. MINEMINEMINE! Mwahah!


	2. Chapter Two: Accidents Do Happen

FASTER THAN GOD

By Jashi

Heh. I hope ya liked the first chapter, as I certainly did. I love that song…and The Red Hot Chili Peppers…3_3

Troy and Xander use some…very colorful language. That is mainly why this is rated PG-13.

Enjoy.

CHAPTER TWO:

(Two Years Later)

Xander Cage shuffled his feet as he sat in the chair. He'd been here for nearly two hours. And Gibbons still hadn't shown up. 

__

Where the fuck is he? I'm tired of waiting. At this thought, Xander got out of his chair and headed for the door, shoving a guard out of the way.

And of course, he ran right into Gibbons on his way out. 

Gibbons was sweating, and he pushed X right back into the room. Grabbing a remote from the table, he clicked on the TV.

"Watch." the solemnly scarred face said.

X turned his attention to the screen.

**__**

"Exactly eight hours ago, California was the victim of one of the world's biggest explosions yet. In Sacremento, a huge, nuclear-suspected explosion took place at the city's center and the whole west side of the city was wiped out. What remains at hand is exactly who did it. Government officials are---"

Gibbons clicked off the TV. Xander jumped up, his fists clenched, his mind racing. 

"Goddammit! What the hell is going on here?!" he yelled angrily, sending his fist to the table, shaking it.

"X, that's what we're going to try to find out. Look, we've already got the bomb. Come with me." Gibbons walked out, and motioned for Xander to follow. They walked through the hallway, until they finally got to a small room. Gibbons walked inside, and gestured to the downstairs lab. 

"That was the bomb."

A car was sitting there, a nice looking Mitsubishi Spyder, actually. It was sure as hell scratched and banged up, but it wasn't missing anything vital, like maybe…the roof.

"You're shitting me. A car that's a bomb blows up in the bombing." X growled.

Gibbons shook his head. "No. We've been looking on the car, and we've noticed quite a few things going on with it that aren't…natural."

"Like what?"

"There isn't an ignition. There are high-tech military programmer-chips installed throughout the radio. Nitrous-oxide, you name it, this things got it."

"What do you mean, there isn't an ignition? Are you saying…?" Xander started to say, his thoughts confused.

"Yes. We have also found several A.I. Chips. Along with some remote control bindings." Gibbons stated.

Xander stared at the car. 

"Who gets to drive?"

Gibbons smiled. "Not you."

X whipped his head around to look at Gibbons.

"What do you mean, I can't drive?"

"We've found someone for you to work with, X."  
"God, no. I work by myself. If I work at all."

"Not this time. Xander, you aren't a good enough driver to get in an A.I., remote control-binded, wild, out of control car."

"Who's better than me?"

"Someone who lives up in New York, a girl named Troy Ruse."

Xander looked Gibbons straight in the eye. 

"You aren't somehow planning to kidnap someone out of their natural home and make them be a screwy part of your NSA? And then when they refuse, threaten to lock them up forever until the life flows out of them?" he snapped.

"We hope we won't have to go that far."

"Go that far? What do you fucking mean, go that far? You shouldn't have gone that far in the first place." 

"We do what we have to do." Gibbons's voice struck a final tone. 

Xander turned away, still very pissed off. Gibbons handed him a map.

"The girl's name is Troy Ruse. She's a street racer in New York. Somewhat like you, only, probably one of the best drivers in the world. Started out as a 44th Street racer, then moved down to 178th West, 113th, and Damark." 

"So she's gonna drive?"

"Yes. And you're going to bring her here. Take the stun-darts if you want. Be quick, be alert, get her out of here, you have two days." he stated and turned to exit the room.

X started after him, opened his mouth to protest, then stopped. He wasn't going to shake Gibbons, obviously.

He opened the map.

__

44th , 178th West, 113th, and DAMARK? How the hell did a twenty-one year old girl get on Damark Street? 

You've gotta beat Markus to get on Damark…damn. She really must be one hell of a driver.

~~~Damark Street, New York City, 11:00PM~~~ 

****

(Troy's POV) 

Here I am.

Again.

With the jackasses and dopers of the underground racing world around me. A thousand people, a million people, five people. Too many, not enough. Sex is in the background, pill bottles roll around on the floor when the cars start.

I am Troy Ruse.

I beat Markus on Damark Street six months ago. I beat Jack Schitt, also known as Andrew Kinlling, two years ago.

I beat everyone.

Life is the only race I lose. 

I am forever damned to be on the underground. I can't do anything other than these street races beneath society.

Society fucking needs to suck that guy's balls over there. Maybe if society would accept us as we are, cops wouldn't come over here all the time, I wouldn't be driving from street to street, maybe we could go fast in peace. 

A bald, very muscular, tattooed guy walks over to me. 

"Hey." I offer up a neutral, cautious greeting.

"I want to race Troy Ruse. For one thousand dollars, if you could point me to her. Or if she's not here, I'll just be on my way." he says this seriously, but with a cocky glint in his eye.

I stand up to my full 5'11" height. This guy still is a couple inches taller than me.

"Make the man lose some bucks, Ruse. Come on, no one's raced in a while." Benji says from behind me.

"You mean one hour." I say back jokingly. 

Back to Mr. Skinny-Ass over here.

"Sure. I'll race. One thousand? And if I lose, you get…one thousand. What are you racing with?" I ask routinely.

"Pontiac GTO. One thousand sounds fine."

Well, it better fucking sound fine. GTO? Beautiful cars. You can do all sorts of shit to them.

"Fine. GTO versus El Camino. Pop your collar, player. Let's get this shit going." I say, with a little cockiness in my voice. I turn to tune up my El Camino a bit. 

"Shit sounds fine."

~~~a half an hour later~~~

Game set match. In my El Camino at the starting line, I check everything. Nitrous-oxide components, spikes, everything. One thing goes wrong, I go speeding into big, hard, concrete wall. 

I roll down my window.

"I never got your name."

"Xander Cage."

Hmm. He's probably one of those car/board/anything jackers that do crazy stunts and then throw the car off the cliff. 

Why waste a good car that you could fully temperament with and make it a fucking Street Machine of Speed? 

A stupid, fucking insensitive person, that's who.

I suppose maybe I care too much about cars. Maybe I know too much, am too good.

It doesn't matter.

Fire up the engine. Rev it up a bit. It's show time, I suppose.

I am Troy Ruse.

I hope God doesn't forget me out there.

****

(the Narrator's POV. Me, basically.)

Xander gunned his engine and the man standing between the two cars waved his arms and ran. 

GO!

Troy flew in the car, speeding, zooming, flying, Xander close behind. They raced, each emitting screams of nitrous-oxide, clashing with spikes, until they were almost there.

Then the unthinkable, the truly unthinkable happened. 

There was a small street leading out on to Damark, a small, small street. One car could fit through there. Troy happened to be racing on the left, the closest. Just before the end of the race, just before she could reach across the line, a cop car swung out into the street. 

Troy's El Camino went flying. 

It flipped over the cop-car, twirled and rolled on it's side a good eighty feet. It screeched and skidded on the street until it finally hit a wall. 

The crowds on the side were screaming and running away from the scene, at the fact there was a cop. 

Xander skidded to a stop, and jumped out of his GTO, running towards Troy's car.

"Oh shit, Gibbons's gonna kill me, Gibbons's gonna kill me…" he muttered, hoping deep inside she was still alive.

The car wasn't burning, nor threatening to blow. The side window broke, and hands emerged from the broken wreckage, getting cut on the glass.

"Holy shit…" the bloodied and battered Troy muttered. "Damn, I haven't done that in a couple years. Jesus CHRIST!"

Xander helped her out of the broken window. 

"Jesus, are you alright?" he asked, slowly, inconspicuously reaching for his gun with the stun-darts in it.

Troy eyed his hand.

"To think…" she said softly, a smile on her face. "I just survived that to have you shoot me in the head." 

Xander sighed. He hated it when people thought things like that. Troy's eyes rolled back into head and she fell forward. Xander instinctively caught her. He reached for his gun and shot her with the dart. 

"That'll put her out for a while…at least until we get back to Gibbons…"he muttered to himself. He carried her to the GTO and put her in the back seat, quickly driving away, back to the NSA.

~~~~~~~~~~

Holy crap, that RHYMED! DUDE!

The "Pop your collar, player." was meant to be a joke. ^_^ xXx is not mine.

~~WSHNN


	3. Chapter Three: The Straitjacket Blues

FASTER THAN GOD  
by Jashi!

Sorry. I've been grounded from the computer for at least four weeks, so yeah. Sorry. 

CHAPTER THREE: 

****

(TROY's POV) 

Pain…ouch…dark, hammer-pounding on my head pain. I lift my eyes. I must not be dead. Or if I am dead, this must be hell. I'm in a nice, spiffy, white straitjacket. My head feels so heavy, and I think it's covered in bandages. 

Xander Cage is sitting in the corner talking to a black man with one fucked-up face.

"You…" I grit my teeth in anger. He tricked me. He raced me, then while we were racing, a planted 5-0 came and flipped me. Then he shot me with his dart gun, which must have had some kind of sleeping solution in the dart.

I struggle in the straitjacket, wanting to get after this guy for tricking Troy Ruse. The fucked-up face man turns with a sharp look at the sound of me struggling.

"Good morning, Troy Ruse."

I grit my teeth again.

"Get me the fuck out of this thing." I say through my closed teeth, my head heavy with pain. I want to kill him. First Mr. Xander Bald-Fucker Cage and then this guy…

"I am Gibbons, head of the NSA. This is xXx, or Xander Cage as you know him, one of our agents." he said briskly. 

"Now, let me tell you what you're---" Gibbons began.

"Haha. YOU'RE going to tell me what I'm doing here? Great. Look, Al Pacino, I'm not here. In fact, I'm gone. Get me the fuck out of this stupid straitjacket and let me continue my normal, civilian life." I laugh, spitting my words out at him. I struggle more in the straitjacket. I think there is some way to actually escape from the horrid confinement of straitjackets. In fact, as soon as I get out of here, to the Internet. 

"Normal, civilian life?" Gibbons's laugh like a dog's bark hurts my ears. I wonder if his laugh really sounds like that. I doubt it. 

"Let's see…Probably every car manufacturer in the U.S. wants you dead or in jail. Grand auto theft," he counts on his fingers, "grand auto theft, and finally, illegal underground street racing and manufacture of cars." 

"Manipulation."

My word comes out unexpected.

"What?" xXx says, surprised.

"I don't manufacture cars. I manipulate them with nitrous oxide and shit like that. I don't create the cars. I manipulate them." the words tumble out before I can stop them. 

Gibbons raises his eyebrow. 

"That's an interesting perspective for one of the most wanted car thieves in America."

"The most wanted."

Xander stares, obviously surprised again.

"Last time I checked, I was most wanted." I spit, my hands itching to get out of the straitjacket. 

Gibbons's eyebrow moves a little farther up his forehead.

"If you do not comply, do you know where you go?"

Gibbons walks over to me, his face less than an inch away from mine. I can't move, I'm in the fucking straitjacket! 

"To hell?" I say, glaring right back at him.

"More than hell. I'm going to turn you over the police…but their not gonna take you to jail, oh no. Death penalty is most likely in store for you. But because judges are sympathetic with people like you, they'll give you a life sentence. You'll sit in a windowless room for the rest of your days, slowly wasting away until you wish you were dead. No more cars. No more 150 miles an hour."

I spit. I spit right in Gibbons's fucking face, right in his eye. 

"You can kill me. By fucking God you can fucking kill me. But why do you want me, first?"

"You heard of the huge explosion in Sacramento, correct? It was caused by a car, a car called a "Death Car". They belong to a secret, underground organization. These cars are A.I., but with some remote bindings. They can operate nuclear weapons. They can get information from the mainframes in D.C. They can access anything they want." 

I nod, looking at a spot on the wall behind his head.

"But we don't know where these cars are. They are going to strike soon, very soon. This is where you come in."

I remain emotionless. Think rock. Think stone. Think of something else.

"**You** are going to get inside these cars, and disable them until we learn where they're coming from, what their purpose is."

I am stone. Emotionless rock. I am the rock, Gibbons is the sea. I may be worn down and dead at the end, but I will be gone, be of no use to know one. The only way he can win is if he can wear me down to the point of no return.

"Is that what you did to him too?" my voice is shaky with anger. 

"What?"

"Xander Cage. 'xXx'. Last time I looked he was an extreme sports addict who trashed cars. Now he works for the NSA. You gave him the exact same crock of bullshit you just gave me. The exact same thing." I shake my head sadly. The rock is worn down. So she gives way to the sea. I guess…it sounds…like a challenge.

"I'll do it."

Gibbons smiles. "Knew you would."

"That doesn't mean you now rule everything I do. So fuck off. And get me out of this shitty straitjacket." 

%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%%

Blargh! Sorry this chapter is so short. But I guess there is depth. No flames, por favor. Now for some shameless advertising: If you like LotR fics that have original characters (not mary-sues) and mythical metamorphism? Then go read Eyes Not Quite Human by Where the Streets Have No Name! Thank you! (haha, sorry. Just more people read this fic than the other one...*Evil grin*) So…goodbye! ~WSHNN


	4. Chapter Four: Showered

FASTER THAN GOD

By Jashi (also known as where the streets have no name. Read my author profile!)

I do not own xXx. Sorry for taking so long.

CHAPTER FOUR:

****

(TROY'S POV)

So they've granted me a day. A single day before my life ends and I become a toy of a government agency to protect 'freedom'. 

If I have to protect freedom, why do I have none of my own?

I love to drive cars. That's really all I've cared about all the nineteen years I've lived. I learned to drive a week after I'd turned ten years old because I joined a gang called the Killers. I had to jack cars, drive cars, race cars, steal cars, my life became all about cars. We were a small gang and lived on a street called 44th. I'm always yelling at racers to "go back to 44th Street and learn how to drive" because in my mind, the people there were always the best. The gang members accepted me. They were my mama, my father, my sisters, my brothers. Then they died. They died.

Except for me, Benji, and Lena. We were left. 

It was a huge fight against a rival gang, the Vipers from the East Side Apartments. I was fifteen. Benji was fourteen, and Lena is a month older than me. The Vipers were fed up with us and our races and our success with cars. So they showed up one day at the shanty on 44th Street that was ours, the place I'd called home for a long, long time. Some of them had handguns, Remmingtons and Magnums, stupid little handguns that shouldn't have been able to kill but did. One of them had an AK-47. 

I hate that word. It's not even a word, just two letters and two numbers and a hyphon.

I never say it. I say 'automatic machine gun'. 

Because that gun destroyed my whole life. 

They jumped the gang and they had no idea what to do. They killed Stev, Halden, Alice, Helen, McGonag, Johnny, Marks, Dan, Sheila, Jones…they were all full of bullets. Pumped with lead. Benji, Lena, and I had been out. I forget what we were doing. 

We came in at a run because we noticed the door was full of bullet-sized holes. There they were. Asleep, it looked like. All except for Jones. He was dying. I ran over to him. He'd been teacher to learn how to drive, jack, race, steal anything you wanted to do with cars. He was crying in pain.

I said, "Jones, Jones! God, what happened?"

He could barely talk. "…came in…no warning…AK-47...Troy…"

His eyes filled with blood and it was the most terrible thing I've ever seen. He said my name one more time, as a cry of pain, of loss, of want of redemption. 

"JONES!" I sobbed, and he died, my teacher. 

I guess I swore then to do everything I ever did with a car in his name. I took his ring, the gang ring we all had, a gold ring with the letter "K" engraved in it. It was thinner and wouldn't be noticed very easily as a gang symbol. We decided to take their rings in remembrance.

I wear Jones, Alice, and Marks around my neck on a chain.

But I still wear my own Killer ring around my finger. If I met a Viper today, Benji asked me once, would I kill him?

Hell yes.

I may still be carrying around the weight of the revenge I want, but I've come to terms with it. To a degree. 

Benji was always the peace-loving one. Lena was always wild and bright, but she never was fond of firing a gun either. And me, you ask?

I was never that violent.

I never really have been.

But then I had to go and race on the other streets. I had to learn how to fire a gun, how to get drugs. I knew how to get the weed and the snowy crack everybody loves so much. But angel dust? LSD? New stuff. Firing a gun wasn't hard. I knew how to fight. Hand-to-hand kind of shit. I can punch a man out. I got the balls to take someone on.

Lena, Benji and I have been stuck together all this time. Stick together, never give up, all for one and one for all, right? Right. Maybe. I don't know now. Now it's Mr. Xander "xXx" Cage. Oooooh, I'm gonna shit my pants I'm so fucking scared of (gasp) XXX. 

He's just another extreme sports-type man who thinks he's some kind of James Bond-type womanizer with the muscles the size of a two liter bottle and an ego the size of the Empire State Building. Halden was kinda like that, only he was nice. And he wasn't a womanizer. He liked this one chick who belonged to the Skulls, a friend-gang. I don't really remember her at all. It WAS six years ago that I last saw her. What am I now, twenty? Twenty-one? I think back to what year I was born and do the math. Hey, I'm twenty-one. Dude. I didn't know that. But what time is it now? I'd think it's about four or five o'clock. Or as Lena would say in her smart-ass way, "Time for you to get a watch, Ruse."

I need a shower. 

Warm water, a bar of prison soap, steel sink, and half a bottle of Walmart's own brand of shampoo await me in an adjacent room. 

Ah. Just like home. Any towels? Hmm. 

Open the cabinet under the sink to find a couple gray towels. Throw one around the bar on the shower and another over the top. Take no chances when you bathe. Tiny little mofo of a shower, but anything is good. Turn it on, strip quick and jump in despite the cold of the shower. 

It gets warm after about three minutes, and I squirt a good two-thirds of what's left of the shampoo on my head. Ah, SOAP! I feel clean as I rinse it all out of my hair. I pick up the bar of soap and sniff it and an unpleasant smell hits my nose. Soot and gasoline. I smell these on a daily basis, but not in a shower. Taking a closer look at the soap, I sniff it again, and suddenly ZINGBANGWAKEUPRUSEANDGETWITHTHESTORY I jump out of the shower with my towel wrapped around me, turning it off and grabbing my clothes, shutting the door and dressing faster than you can say "What?".

That was Xander's shower. Who else's shower would have only a half-full bottle of shampoo and dirty-smelling soap? Someone else's, apparently. And Xander probably took a shower after delivering me to Gibbons, and what do you smell like after a car wreck? Like soot, gasoline, ashes, oil, and fire. And sometimes you have black all over you.

There is a clunk and my door opens. Xander Cage steps into my use.

"Now, Ruse." he says seriously, "why the fuck were you using my shower?"

___to be continued____


End file.
